First Taegeuk Mark (9)
“Whoa, that was nerve-wracking this time.”
“Incredible.”
“They actually pulled it off?”
After the Japan game ended, the Korean national baseball team gathered in their hotel in Okazaki to watch the women’s doubles badminton final of the Games. Against China—the defending Asian Games champions—they staged a stunning reverse sweep. As fellow Koreans and fellow athletes, the applause came unbidden. When the two women players finally embraced at the end, even Lee Hajun felt a sudden swell of emotion rise in his chest. It was such a brilliant match that not only Korean fans but the Japanese crowd itself was roaring in celebration.
“Suddenly my blood’s boiling.”
“Same here.”
The teammates celebrated the gold medal won by another sport, yet at the same time they were sharply aware that they, too, were national team athletes.
Tomorrow, we…
The will to win was already more than enough. Still, if they could bring home the gold with a match as beautiful as that one, so much the better.
“Um… I think I should say this now.”
“Huh?”
The coaches had chosen the women’s doubles match—conveniently timed—as a way to keep the players from doing anything foolish the night before the final, and also to foster a sense of national-team camaraderie. Captain Woo Jaechun stepped in front of the group.
“Honestly, more than half of you here are so much better than me it’s not even funny. Still, you followed me without a word of complaint just because I’m the captain. Thank you.”
To Hajun’s eyes, the captain’s tone looked thoroughly embarrassed.
“Once tomorrow’s game is over we disband, but it’s been an honor to be with you all this whole time. It’s a little embarrassing to admit, but a few of you here… I’ve been a personal fan of for a long time.”
“·····”
The players selected for this Asian Games carried a special condition: mostly under-25s and those who had not yet completed military service. They could not help thinking about what came next. There were the absurdly talented ones who would keep being called up for top-tier teams like the WBC or the Olympics; there were the ones standing in the middle; and there were those for whom this might be the last time. Woo Jaechun sat right on that middle line—the level that still needed a clear step-up if he wanted to remain a stable national-team fixture. For someone, a first and possibly last Taegeuk mark was precious enough to speak from the heart.
“Dude, isn’t this a total death flag?”
Tae Minho, Woo Jaechun’s Warriors teammate, cut in.
“Right?”
“Yeah, haha.”
“Aigoo, hyung, getting all cheesy right before the final.”
“Ah, damn it, I was trying to say something serious for once—”
Laughter erupted from every corner. The brief serious atmosphere melted straight back into the same lighthearted mood as before. In truth, the moment had been about to tip into full-blown cringe; it stopped right at the point where the captain’s sincerity had been delivered.
“·····”
A few players let only the faintest smile show. Oh Yeongju of the Grizzlies, starting tomorrow and therefore a little on edge. And Lee Hajun, who had just felt the high of watching a magnificent national-team performance and the warmth of camaraderie—yet was already killing those feelings and looking ahead to tomorrow.
True to a final, Okazaki Baseball Stadium held far more spectators than before. Even reporters who normally covered Nippon Professional Baseball had come to cover the game.
[How do you see today’s gold-medal decider?]
[Our players have done so well up to now. But that first preliminary game against Chinese Taipei was a real dogfight, and today’s starter is none other than Liu Fei, who threw that brilliant game that day. We really have to focus.]
The commentator spoke in a thoroughly serious tone. Anyone who wasn’t simply cashing in on past glory while occupying a seat knew that Chinese Taipei baseball was a genuine threat right now.
“We go home winners today, no matter what!”
“Yes, sir!”
Just before the game began, Korean national team manager Park Seongrae delivered his final words.
Top of the first, Republic of Korea batting. Liu Fei finished his warm-up pitches on the mound.
[Leading off for the Republic of Korea—Lee Hajun!]
[My mouth is getting tired of saying it, but he has been outstanding this entire tournament. I keep wondering if he was always this good.]
Overwhelming team-leading OPS. An elite shortstop who had already snuffed out multiple scoring threats with his glove. Stuck in Japan, Hajun himself had no idea, but he had already stamped a deep impression on countless baseball fans. Now he stepped into the box to face Liu Fei.
“·····”
He had run the image training countless times. For this single game wearing the national uniform—something that felt completely different from the pro league—he had thought about the pitcher standing on that mound more than he would have thought about a girlfriend if he had one.
Time it to the fastball.
Data plus a short stretch of real experience. In Hajun’s judgment, unless Liu Fei was having the game of his life today, simply handling the fastball well would keep him from being unhittable.
Like a hunter lining up a shot, he pointed the bat at the pitcher.
[Lee Hajun’s on-base is truly crucial.]
[A player who delivers even more than you hope for when you trust him. He’s ready for the first pitch.]
Whap!
“Ball!”
Whap!
“Ball!”
He kept a perfect poker face, but Hajun was certain the pitcher was thinking things were not going according to plan. Two consecutive outside sliders—the classic lefty-versus-lefty weapon—and Hajun had laid off both.
Last time he looked pretty confident in his command.
A left-hander with both velocity and control was exactly why Liu Fei was dangerous. The sign exchange took a little longer than before. Hajun’s timing never wavered.
Crack!
[He swings—lined the other way!]
[It drops in front of the left fielder! A hit! Lee Hajun reaches base right out of the gate in the first!]
[Hahaha, I truly have nothing left to say.]
“Yes!”
He had been sure the pitcher would try to steal a strike with an outside fastball—the little outside game lefties with good command always play. Hajun punished it cleanly.
“Safe!”
The ensuing pickoff throws to first. Hajun took a perfect lead and kept needling the pitcher. With the baserunning ability he had shown all tournament—turning every pitcher’s face sour the moment he reached base—there was no chance he would suddenly behave himself just because it was the final.
Crack!
But the bench’s call was not a steal of second; it was a sacrifice bunt. Woo Jaechun laid down a perfect one toward third.
[Bunt is down! But the ball—!]
[Ohhhhh!]
Chinese Taipei third baseman Wei Yan’s expression turned urgent. A strong throw to first.
“Safe!”
Too late.
[Safe! Safe at first! Woo Jaechun reaches as well!]
[Beautiful, beautiful.]
The bunt had perfect direction and soft speed; the third baseman simply could not handle Woo Jaechun’s quick feet.
“Yes, yes!”
“We’re lucky today!”
Fortunate nobody-out, first-and-second. The Korean dugout, morale surging, pinned its hopes on the number-three hitter, Kim Jongbeom.
“Hoo… ha.”
Liu Fei had toyed with the Korean lineup last game. Kim Jongbeom would never forget it. Chinese Taipei had marked him heavily as well, and Liu Fei had pitched him with special care—but Jongbeom paid that respect no mind at all.
Whap!
“Ball!”
Crack!
“Foul!”
Crack!
“Foul!”
A ferocious swing. Still, the count sat at a pitcher-friendly one ball, two strikes. The grip hidden inside the glove. Liu Fei pulled out the weapon he had been saving to devour Kim Jongbeom and every other elite right-handed bat.
Huh?
Catcher Zhu Ge Luyang, forming the national-team battery with Liu Fei, felt a chill race down his spine at the utterly absurd pitch that came out.
[He pulled it—left side!]
[Uwaaaaaah!]
The instant the ball met the bat, Kim Jongbeom flung the lumber aside. A changeup that came inside instead of outside and refused to drop. His bat showed the mistake no mercy. The crack was almost a roar, and the distance did not betray the sound.
The entire Korean dugout exploded to its feet. Lee Hajun and Woo Jaechun trotted home with wide grins. On the mound, Liu Fei squeezed his eyes shut and stared at the sky. One single pitch had changed far too much.
[That ball clears the wall and sails clean out of Okazaki Baseball Stadium! Republic of Korea leads 3–0!]
[They called Liu Fei the new Korea killer? Gwangju Kings’ Kim Jongbeom just made that title look ridiculous.]
Still reeling, Liu Fei walked Park Jinhyeok. The manager climbed the mound in the first inning. Then—
Whap!
“Strike three!”
He escaped the jam under his own power. But—
Whap!
“Strike three!”
[K! K! K! Oh Yeongju closes the first with three strikeouts!]
[Our guys look locked in today!]
Oh Yeongju pumped his fist and roared from the very first inning. A blistering fastball, a curve that dropped from the sky to the dirt, and command completely different from the previous game.
“Nice ball!”
“You’re on fire today.”
Teammates greeted their ace with laughter; Oh Yeongju himself grinned, a little sheepish at having celebrated so early.
This is really…
Hajun found a foolish smile spreading across his own face without permission. A three-run lead. The sheer strength of this Korean lineup all tournament. A starter who looked sharp. An ironclad bullpen waiting behind him. It was hard to shake the thought forming in his head.
Have we already won?